


Dinner

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 03:23:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13802346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: They’re good enough friends now that Prompto doesn’t have to leave when Noctis is thirsty.





	Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This was inspired by a vamp!Noct/volunteer!Ignis prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/), but is way too far off of the rest of it to use as a fill. Still, here you go...
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They’ve been friends for years the first time that it happens. They’re both lounging on the couch in Noctis’ apartment, the lights dim to set the movie’s mood and the television lighting up their faces. Prompto’s craving popcorn, which Noctis might enjoy, but before he can suggest it, Noctis is fetching the remote. He presses pause, then calls aimlessly towards the kitchenette, “Iggy.”

Ignis has his back to them. Bent over the counter, he’s preparing dinner, without complaint for the poor lighting or the laziness of Noctis and Prompto. Prompto watches him straighten up and look over. Noctis grunts just: “’M hungry.”

Ignis is probably halfway into their meal. But that’s a _different_ hunger. Noctis hasn’t bothered turning towards Ignis, just staring at the frozen screen, and it lets Prompto see the red glimmer around his iridescent irises. Prompto’s breath catches for a split second before he forcibly smoothes it out. He always knew, of course. The papers are full of lewd rumours about the royal family, the crown suspiciously quiet on such matters. But Noctis told him the truth when they first started hanging out—told him that if it was going to freak him out, he better bow out of the friendship sooner rather than later. 

Prompto had gaped, breathed _“cool”_ , and only spared it a second thought for the first few weeks. Noctis never fed in front of him. Not like _that_. But now, Noctis’ eyes are gleaming like they always do before his fangs come out, before he slinks off and returns with redder lips. Maybe they’re good enough friends now that Noctis is truly _comfortable_ with him. That thought makes Prompto strangely happy.

His stomach still does a weird sort of flutter as Ignis wordlessly sheds his apron. Prompto would probably keep it on—no sense staining one’s clothes. Not that he thinks Noctis would be messy. He expects Ignis to head for the fridge—or the freezer—he doesn’t know where he’d keep _blood_ —but Ignis comes right around the kitchen island and strolls into the living room.

He walks to them and slips between the couch and the coffee table, gracefully slinking down to the floor. He kneels before Noctis. He unbuttons his collar. Then he pulls the fabric back, exposing the long, lean line of his pale throat, and he arches forward. His trim fingers splay across his lap. Prompto watches Noctis’ pink tongue poke out and trace his lips, the _hunger_ heavy in his eyes.

It’s more than that. It’s a sort of palpable, intoxicating _lust_ that nearly makes Prompto shiver. Nothing’s changed. It’s just the two of them hanging out with Ignis, like they always do, Ignis and Noctis doing something utterly _normal_ for them. But Prompto feels inexplicably like he’s been let into a private show, wanton and personal. Noctis reaches down to curl his fingers beneath Ignis’ chin. 

He tilts it up farther, Ignis’ half-lidded eyes catching his. No one could ever question Ignis’ devotion. Noctis leans forward, and Prompto bites the inside of his mouth to shut up and watch.

But he’s never been that good at keeping quiet when he should, and he finds himself blurting, “You drink from... Ignis...?”

Noctis pulls up again. He frowns, glancing at Prompto. His voice is just a tad defensive. “What? He volunteered.” Prompto doesn’t remember that. He remembers Noctis practically snapping his fingers, and Ignis rushing to bow to him. Maybe Noctis realizes that’s how it looks, because his cheeks lightly colour, even though the storybooks always say that vampires are _dead_ and can’t have their blood rushing anywhere. “He applied to be my... supplement... when he turned eighteen.” The stumble over the wording is understandable. Prompto thinks ‘walking blood bank’ might be a better term.

Ignis, as calm and suave as always, smoothly says, “I volunteered far earlier than that, but the king insisted the duty remain amongst adults.” Even though Noctis wouldn’t have been one. Prompto’s head is swimming—he never quite thought it out that far. When Prompto just sort of _looks_ at him, Ignis explains, “At least with myself, I can be sure to maintain my health, and that Noctis won’t contract anything from me.”

Noctis mutters, “Thanks.” He looks sort of sheepish and suddenly won’t meet Prompto’s eyes. Maybe that’s for the best. Something about Noctis’ eyes when they’re glowing, _burning_ red, gets to Prompto. Not that Noctis doesn’t look just as good when they’re clear and blue.

They both seem to wait, but Prompto has nothing more to say. He’s probably made himself look like enough of an idiot, and he doesn’t want to make Noctis self-conscious about it, doesn’t want to step their friendship back. Ignis seems to understand that the moment’s over, and his prince is still unsatisfied. He arches forward again, surrendering himself for the taking. Prompto can admit, he looks a hell of a lot better than a container of blood out of the fridge.

Prompto watches, mesmerized, as Noctis leans down, pressing against Ignis’ flawless skin. He takes a moment to inhale, eyes falling closed and lips parting as he does so, like he’s just breathed in something _incredible_ and tantalizing. Then his tongue is sliding over Ignis’ throat, dragging over the skin, and Prompto can hear Ignis’ breath catch.

Noctis opens his mouth wide and sinks into Ignis’ flesh with an audible crunch. Prompto winces automatically, but also wishes he had a better angle, that he could see _more_ , that it would be socially acceptable to climb over and really _stare_. Ignis lets out a short, quickly muffled cry, eyes scrunching shut beneath his glasses. He doesn’t look _in pain_ , exactly, but neither is he as cool and collected as he always seems. Noctis’ hand moves to brace Ignis’ shoulder, and the next thing Prompt knows, Noctis is pulling Ignis into him.

Noctis is _fierce_. Prompto always knew that, but he didn’t expect it from a lazy night spent in front of the television. Noctis couldn’t even be bothered to go to the kitchen to eat. But he sheds his weariness as he sinks into Ignis, surging forward to smother Ignis with it, to claw Ignis against his own body and to suck so hard that Prompto can actually _hear_ it. He watches Ignis’ chest beat with what little room’s left between them, listens to Ignis’ laboured breath and small, broken _moans_ that make Prompto squirm. Ignis doesn’t squirm. Prompto thinks he’d be writhing in that heated embrace. But Ignis holds himself still for his prince, bears himself completely and lets Noctis take whatever he wants. Even though Ignis is the one suffering the rush of blood, Prompto feels his body flushing. It’s so strangely _intimate_. He thinks he understands why Ignis volunteered.

When Noctis is finally finished, pulling free with a wet squelching noise and a deep hiss, Ignis is lightly shaking. His head falls as though he doesn’t have the strength anymore to hold it up. Noctis makes a soft cooing noise and licks over the puncture wounds, lapping up the remaining red beads until the area is slick and clean. By the time he moves away, the holes are already sealing up. Prompto stares at them in awe. Ignis takes a shuddering breath, slumping forward as Noctis sinks back into the couch. He licks his lips, looking thoroughly satisfied, and his eyes, still a murky crimson, linger over Ignis.

It takes a second for Ignis to regain himself. Then he buttons up his collar, hiding the evidence of his sacrifice. His eyes remain on the floor. His legs are a tad unsteady when he rises. Noctis watches him the whole way. Prompto uses the distraction to snatch a pillow off the center cushion and subtly shift it over his lap. 

As Ignis heads back to the kitchenette, Prompto shakily jokes, “’Thought you’d have cute maids for that.” He means it just to puncture the stifling, broiling mood, but it sounds unconvincing, even to his own ears. 

Noctis doesn’t look over. While he reaches for the remote, he casually answers, “Ignis tastes better than my maids.” Then he’s lounging back and clicking play.

Prompto gulps and tries to watch the movie.


End file.
